


held together by dried blood, shrapnel and little else

by InvadingThoughts



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Universe, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvadingThoughts/pseuds/InvadingThoughts
Summary: After fighting his way out of that cave, feeling his whole world tilt on its axis & revealing himself to the world as Iron Man, Jeremy is...Not okay.(Not that he ever really was)Now, he’s apart of a team with people who hate him, failing the one thing he’s meant to do as a superhero, and waiting out the days till he breaks.After all, he’s a man made of metal now, and he’s rusting fast.
Relationships: things are planned but won’t be tagged until they actually happen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	held together by dried blood, shrapnel and little else

**Author's Note:**

> after sitting on this fic for so long & not actually writing it, i realised that it would stay that way forever unless i had something pushing me on.
> 
> SO, i’m posting this opening chapter to see if this fic is actually anything anyone wants. and if not, at least it won’t be hidden away in my wip folder for the rest of eternity. 
> 
> let’s see how this bitch flies, everyone.

Captain America is waiting for him on the roof when Jeremy touches down. 

He’s stood unnaturally straight, unfazed by the cool, early morning air and if Jeremy didn’t know any better, it wouldn’t take much to convince him that their All-American Captain ( _yeah right_ ) was a goddamn robot. 

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

The suit splinters off, the pieces sinking into the floor as BOOKER starts storing it away without even a word. Jeremy flicks his eyes up to the nearest camera, sharing an appreciative look with the AI and when he turns back to Free, he’s met with a hard look that could almost rival Howard’s. 

“Where were you?” Free asks, as if he’s Jeremy’s keeper, and somehow, he manages to pull himself up even straighter as Jeremy approaches. “We were meant to debrief—”

Jeremy pulls up short, cocking his head slightly. “Wow. For a second there, I’d almost thought you were Howard, Capsicle. The likeness, it’s amazing.”

Free frowns, but Jeremy doesn’t miss the way his eyes slightly glaze over. Any mention of daddy dearest and the giant bastard loses his tongue. It’s the simplest means of disarming him, and Jeremy can’t figure out why the _great Captain_ even bothers with him anymore, since they trade more barbs than pleasantries lately. 

Free shakes himself out of his stupor and levels him with a hard look. “Dooley—”

“No—” Jeremy interrupts, puffing up like a threatened cat, “—I’m _sorry_. I didn’t know we’d enacted a curfew. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to leave my _own_ tower without permission.”

“Can you just—” 

“Nope! No, you’re absolutely correct, dear Captain. I’ll be sure to tell BOOKER to revoke all my access codes. Full home arrest mode. I won’t even go on the balconies without telling you first, you have my word.” And just for the added effect, Jeremy rests a palm against his chest, keeping his face blank. 

Free sighs, throwing up his hands. “Bloody hell, why does everything have to be a fight with you?” He asks. “Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this team, Iron Man. And you need to start acting like it. We need to debrief after missions, it’s protocol—”

“Not my protocol.”

“—and it facilitates team growth. What we did well, what we can improve. It’s essential.”

Jeremy doesn’t bother suppressing the burst of laughter that bubbles up and out of him. “Oh that’s rich! Did good ol’ Burns give you that one, or did you read it out of Shield’s handbook yourself?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Jeremy steps around Free and into his tower. He heads straight for the bar, wincing as the bruises on his shoulder pull as he leans over to grab a glass. He rests his hip against the marble edge and gives himself three fingers of whiskey; a reward for a job well done.

Free stands right where Jeremy left him, but his frown is bigger. Jeremy wonders if tonight, _or more accurately this morning_ , he’ll finally get to the end of his rope and decide to beat Jeremy to death with his own hands. 

Not that anyone would really blame him.

“God, Jeremy. You’re not even trying to be civil, are you? This is just a bloody game to you, isn’t it! Just another thing to preoccupy yourself with before you drink yourself to death.”

 _Ow_ , now _that_ one kinda hurt. 

Normally, Jeremy would applaud him for giving back as good as he’s getting, but he’s not in the mood tonight. There were too many casualties on this mission; lives that he could have saved if he’d been faster, stronger, _better._ He is sore, tired and burned out. Every ache and pain reminds him of his failures, and every time he closes his eyes, he can see the bodies he _let_ get buried under all that rubble.

From the building he failed to stop from collapsing.

Because he failed.

_Again._

The guilt gnaws at his stomach, eating him from the inside out, and Jeremy feels his last thread of his facade snap as it lashes out at Free.

“For fuck sake! I really don’t understand how Aunt Meg put up with you. You’re such a fucking bastard; I bet she, and every other fucking person who knew you back then, threw a fucking _party_ when they’d heard that your plane crashed.”

The second the words are out, he regrets them. But the damage is done, because he watches Free’s face crumple, and Jeremy knows it wouldn’t matter how many times he tries to apologise, tries to take them back; He can’t change who he is, deep down. 

He’s always going to be that cruel, unforgivable murderer who keeps pretending he’s one of the good guys when he’s really one of the villains.

Without looking at Free, not wanting to see the broken look on his face again, Jeremy swallows the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass down, turning on his heel as he heads for the elevator. 

Once he’s inside it, he turns his face to the camera in the corner. “To the lab, BOOKER.” 

Trying to sleep tonight would just be a futile effort anyway.


End file.
